


SprungSick's Graveyard of Scrapped Fics

by SprungSick



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Just a bunch of unfinished stuff, Might pick it up again though ;), TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), it's me what do you expect, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28882998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SprungSick/pseuds/SprungSick
Summary: To celebrate the end of season two of the Dream SMP, I'm going to be posting all of the unfinished fics that I dropped for some reason or another. Take a gander if you'd like!(Note: Just because it's buried doesn't mean I'm against graverobbery ;) )
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit, I hate that i have to specify that wtf, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 39
Kudos: 110





	1. eowmfkoewfmeofwkm DICK

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! As I said, these are all of the fics I either lost the motivation for, thought weren't cohesive enough to post, or had some issue with in one way or another. Please heed the notes at the beginning of each chapter!! 
> 
> If you want to take inspiration from this unfinished stuff, go right ahead!! Just make sure to do the whole "inspired by" shenanigans so I get to see the awesome work :)
> 
> And yes, all the chapter names are what I titled my docs-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicidal Thoughts, suicidal ideation 
> 
> This one was basically my take on Tommy finally getting a push in the right direction and starting his recovery. Unfortunately, uh, I took too long-

The clouds were weeping over the remains of an unlived nation and he could only see the axe in his hands. 

They had yet to finish their mourning, engorging themselves in grief fit only for the family and the loved - a bitter part of him wished to be a part of the storm, if only to stop the continuous drenching of his clothes. He let himself drown in their tears nonetheless. No part of him truly needed to move, no drive urged his body off the harsh obsidian framework left of his life’s resistance. As if in retaliation to the thought, he twitched forward to rip apart the black material by hand. 

He felt along the chilling handle of the axe, with it the whispers of broken alliances and twisting narratives. He slammed down the axe as if burned and let the downpour sob onto his cheeks. 

Exhaustion paired well with the water seeping into his skin, its presence greeting the outside force courteously. Rage rose with its own partner - bile - in its age-old battle against anything he had ever felt. 

Alone - stranded atop the tool used against a nation, his only companions a disingenuous storm and reminder of his mistakes - he decided, would be a fitting end state. It would mean the wounds across his afflicted fingers would stay unseen, the remains of himself forgotten; he had no grave to steal, ghost to find, legacy to maintain. If he and his memory washed away with the torrent of tears, he would end happy. 

A sound of shuffling came from below, a noise of creaking rocks and displaced rubble and yipping dogs a sizable distance away. He pushed the axe away in what he hoped to be the direction of its owner. 

Now, he only had clouds of fake sorrow. 

He couldn’t hear past its performative wails, couldn’t see past its atmosphere of rumbling gray - irrationally, it felt closer than before. Each teardrop seemed intent on filling his lungs, clogging his throat, blinding his eyes. As if to aid it in unintentionally wiping his presence away, he shut his eyelids and invited the force in. 

Something shocked through his limbs, seized each muscle in his body and dissolved every nerve. 

Instead of sinking into watery depths, he felt himself float. 

*** 

He awoke with the distinct sense of calm pressing against his skin. 

Dazzling darkness met him at every swivel of his head, nebulae glittering under the spotlight of millions of stars. It seemed as if strings wove between each pinprick of light - if he focused clearly, the humming notes vibrating through each strand met his ears. As he startled through the endless array of galaxies, he recognized it as one thing - space.

Although he felt his jaw loosen and eyes widen in awe, it felt somewhat wrong.

“I’m glad I got to you in time,” A hymning voice mumbled. He whipped himself around to be greeted with the sensation of sweeping hair. 

“You can’t see me, although I know your mind created an image of me from before,” They continued, each tilt in their words adopting more feminine features. “Something about an astronaut. It’s honestly quite flattering, really.” 

“Clara?” He asked, trying to focus on where exactly her voice came from. Their chirping laughter seemed to have no origin. 

“I guess, yes-” She cut themself off with another chirp, amused- “That is a nice name. I’m the one of the stars, space, and galaxies vaster than even I can comprehend.” 

He hummed, curiosity overtaking what little sense of self-preservation that had yet to be destroyed. “Did I meet you before?” 

“You grazed past me, yes. I haven’t had the chance to properly talk to you, however. You’ve grown on me a bit nonetheless - I’m surprised I haven’t brought you up before.” 

“Uh, what? Did something happen?” 

The threads nearby hummed low, considering. He felt distinctly out-of-place, as if he had set foot within a stranger’s abode and had no knowledge of the pre-established rules. 

“You were about to be taken,” Clara said finally. “I don’t think you knew this, but you nearly let the storms desecrate the foundations already set in your soul. They may have been happy to claim you as their own, but I- well, I’ve grown rather soft.” 

He felt his eyebrows raise as confusion dizzied his skull. “What?” 

Another chirruping laugh. “Sorry, I know that must have sounded strange. It’s- it’s rather complicated, you see. Just know that the storm had no right to take you as its own - nor do I, for that matter. I, however, am willing to share my space without claiming you as a part of it.” 

“That-” He rubbed at his temples, the countless otherworldly lanterns only worsening his grip on his thoughts- “That’s- what? What the fuck is going on?” 

“I am giving you a place to rest.” 

Suddenly, he felt himself freeze, the gentle croons of unearthly melodies flitting carelessly past his ears. Through the confusion, through the turmoil, a vulnerable part of him reached out - the idea of rest, of safety, clogged his already-cracked throat and pulled at something neglected deep inside. 

“I am giving you access to my domain, to this place between my stars.” They tenderly brushed against his hair, her massless fingers cradling his cheeks. “You humans occasionally need a reprieve, you especially so - I would rather you stay with me up here than see you greet death and their plane. You are not mine to take, nor are you truly meant to be here, but I have stopped caring about something like that. Trust me, when I say this; I am here for you. The stars are here for you. We will always be here for you when you need a break.” 

Something slid down his face, splashing against his trembling lip. A pressure settled against his forehead. 

“If you need it all to end, never look down and over the ledge - look up, to us. Whisper my name, spend a while gazing at your constellations. And I will bring you home. I will bring you rest.” 

He cracked.

Floating in a space not meant for him, surrounded by stars never intended for his eyes, he finally found the strength to cry. 

***

He eventually found himself spending hours between planetary minutes up in the stars, comforted by the only ally he knew loyal - Clara had no care for betrayal, only for the speck of dust he undoubtedly was. 

Her advice - although earnest and partnered with hums - always hit just a touch shy of helping his age-bound body. Their endlessness, their immortality and scale - apparently, it skewed her perspective. He couldn’t bring himself to feel any pain. After all, he had finally been granted a soft landing for his glass. 

When he arrived - whether it be with his head trapped in the past, his arms burning from a long-forgotten fight, his eyes glimmering with the reflection of fire and magma - Clara would always greet him with a brush of his palms. The touch stayed, smearing beautiful cosmos like ink atop his healing hands. If he tried hard enough after his externally short excursions, he could wipe away the reminders of space. 

He let them remain. Out of all the etched mementos of his existence and his life, only these brought a smile to his face. 

Each time they met, they talked - about his life, their life, the world’s - as he urged himself back into any sort of peace. They chattered, they laughed, they basked in a silence he never remembered being comfortable enough to maintain. Without the constant pressure digging into his lungs - without the endless barrage of betrayal and dust - he could, for just a moment, find reprieve. 

Something inside him began to steady. 

“I always love when you join me,” They mused one day, fondness fanning over his steadying hands. “Although I know the reason why, and that you will eventually leave, I can’t not enjoy your presence.” 

“Does it bother you? How I use you?” Guilt rose hot against his cheeks - even off solid ground, the memories of old still lurked in his every breath. 

She chirped loudly. “Use me? Hah! I am the stars, the space, the galaxies - you can not use a concept, can not abuse a thought. I enjoy your presence and you take comfort in mine; I do not see a problem.” 

He hummed in his thoughtless imitation of the stars. 

“I know you eventually will say goodbye for one last time,” They murmured, their voice filled with lightness and warmth. “It must happen, I know. But I will not weep on that day, nor shall I expect you. For I am happy for the days I brought you safety, and the days I kept you away from your despair. And I enjoy each moment spent, no matter how near their end. Please, spend your time with me when needed, I will be here all the same.” 

With a soft grin, he watched as Clara left singing strings in their wake. 

“Tell me the story of Henry again. You didn’t finish last time,” She prompted. With a spark so genuine it exposed his neck, he complied. 

***

“Are you okay?” 

He glanced up to the kitchen counter, taking careful effort to ensure the front door closed quietly. Tubbo stared straight back, the resigned droop of his eyes pairing terribly with the fast pace of his bouncing feet. 

“I’m better now,” He flashed a tired grin and scraped his finger pads against his starry palms. “Went stargazing for a bit, cleared my head. Sorry, Phil’s visit just really- I didn’t want to get angry at you.” 

Tubbo’s response muffled in the back of his throat. “Yeah. I know- Phil’s a- a bastard, I could tell why you had to take a breather.” 

He chose not to respond with the bitter ferocity still broiling just under his calm, decided not to compound on the distressed jabs he had failed to temper - Phil may have left as soon as he realized his intrusion, but the tangle of memories refused to do anything but cling. With a shake, he pushed away the remains of his own piercing thoughts and rifled through their cabinets. 

No matter where he turned, what items he brought in in an attempt to make it home, their house always reeked of the stench of rubbing alcohol. The slightly wobbling table stood in hundreds of other locations, the same flat window shuttered terribly in front of other kitchen sinks, the non-compact yet non-open layout a default in living design. Walls lacked any pictures, lanterns lacked more than a low flicker - even their storage chests lacked much to hold. Nothing would keep him grounded should he be swept away. 

A soft thud rattled through the counter and up the walls.

"I just want to go home," Tubbo whispered, and he forgot to not drown. 

Neither of them needed to speak, nor did they need to ask the question so obvious it stung. Two words. Two insignificant, loaded little words. 

Where's that? 

He thought of his cocooning web of stars, thought of the crater of his life, thought of palaces and cave walls and gentle campfires and songs - none of them, none of them could be defined as home. Nowhere in his past - not in his skin, not in his adolescence, not in his pain - could he dreg up a time where the thin sheen of incongruence at the thought disappeared. The galaxies on his palms whispered just the same.

This wasn't home. 

Neither were the stars.

Quietly - quieter than he ever had been on solid ground - he answered, ink a soft reminder of possibilities and trust. "I want to go home too." 

Strangely, his lack of roots didn’t sting that much. 

***

"This isn't home, is it?"

He squinted fiercely at the chirps now filling the space between strands. With a swift flip and full-body curl, he hoped they picked up on his shielding exasperation. 

"Of course this isn't your home," She rumbled. "I can be your safety, I can be your guide, but I can not be your home. They can overlap, but they are not the same." 

A huff masked the familiar tear of rejection - no matter how many years he practiced resisting its arrival, it still always came and ripped its piece.

"I'm beginning to feel like the only person without a home. Like, the universe just forgot to, or some shit." He tried to break the brittle vulnerability poking through his thin veneer, if only to create more easy to conceal shards. Unsurprisingly, it failed.

"Don't be ridiculous." An invisible force whisked across his forehead and pushed away the abrupt echo of a mask. Gently - as if in apology for the reminiscent words - they glided against his shoulder blades before speaking millenniums into his ears.

"Of course you don't have a home carved into the universe, settled perfectly in a neat little spot just your shape. No one does." 

***

Clara’s words rang in his head as he took one last steadying breath. 

“Let’s make a list,” He announced, and slammed a piece of parchment onto the table. 

Tubbo startled up from the window, eyes wide and unprepared. He adorned his best veil of bravery and waved the parchment again - on the other side, the faint illustration of Techno's face remained hastily scribbled out. With a clatter, Tubbo stumbled away from his plants and towards the opposite seat. 

"What? What kind of list?" Tubbo asked, his curious gaze a shadow of a simpler time. 

"Well-" He shifted from side to side and forced his fingers to untense- "I just- we can't keep living like this, Tubbo." 

Tubbo raised both brows, exhaustion painting blue the lined expanse of his forehead. He pulled close - as if dawning a cloak, a self-sabotaging part of him said - the determination already slipping through his hands. The long stretches of isolation had turned his will to sand. 

"I mean-" He coughed, likely from the panic coating his throat- "Just- look at us. We're- we're fucked, man. And- I don't know, Big T- I think it's about time we, like, took a step back."

"Like you're one to talk," Tubbo rasped, hands folded lightly and voice barely escaping his lips. He winced. 

A part of him deserved it, he believed. A part of him deserved the poison dripping into their tentative [bond], filling the cracks where familiarity and trust should have mended. A part of him deserved the sharpened edges of all his bonds, deserved the angered discipline hiding nothing underneath. A part of him deserved the overcast clouds washing every inch of their house in melancholic blue-gray. 

But he, he wanted light. 

The sands of his resolve hardened into glass. 

Although it felt like pulling nails, he solidified himself and gave a heavy nod. “Yeah. I’m- I’m kind of uh. This is- this is kind of weird for me to say.” 

Tubbo caught his eyes, the edge of his left crinkling with the force of hundreds of sleepless nights and shielded punches. He didn’t comment, let the words hang. Finally - with the nod of someone who had weighed his heart against the scales and deemed it light enough for trust - he pushed a hand out to sweep against the parchment. 

“So what’s this for? Do you want to write down all the places that won’t kick us out?” Tubbo spoke candidly - for just a moment, he could pretend they were both back in the summer, the weight on their shoulders only from carrying materials to Tubbo’s next project. 

“I want to- I want to write down all the people we can trust.” []

“A list of allies?” []

“Not really, no,” He []. “A list of potential friends.”

Tubbo smiled faintly. Had he not spent hours on hours figuring out each of Tubbo’s minute quirks and flicks, he likely would not have seen it all - his eyes would not have caught the battered hope glinting just through layers of disillusionment. [But he did catch it.] His own 

***

“The universe did not create your home, but it has created all its pieces. It is up to you to work out how to put them all together.” 

***

Despite their positions being reversed just a few weeks before, Phil used their trespassing as an excuse to raise his sword. 

(And now some disjointed dialogue-) 

“Why should I not kill you right now? You used me, betrayed me,” Techno 

He grinned a smile of bitter ash and rain. “Welcome to the fucking club.” 

“Stop. We’re done. That section of my history is done - I don’t need you crawling around like some deranged ghost from the past.”

“I can not claim you as my own,” Clara hummed, voice vibrating with pride. “For you have claimed yourself. And you have made your home in every person you have met.”

The stars were shining on his bruised and battered back and he could only see the future in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clara pog clara pog
> 
> Ahahahahahehehehenfjiwungwiufnewoin


	2. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied bad times, Implied traumatic event 
> 
> I wrote this one a while ago actually! I don't remember exactly why I took it down, but here you go 
> 
> Also Sapnap pov nice-

It all started with a joke. 

Whenever he, George, and Dream found themselves strapped with one Tommy as they worked their way through the day’s assortment of tasks, they would always find at least one person to call his mom. It didn’t matter whether their gender wasn’t female or if they were on the path of death - anyone within Sahvir’s borders could be called upon to be Tommy’s mother. 

He remembered the first time it happened, very clearly. 

They had been wandering through the shopping district, listening in while Tommy babbled mindlessly. Despite only knowing him for a short while, the way Tommy’s lips stretched too thin and his hands kept fiddling with nothing left him uneasy and concerned. He was tense, too tense - agitated, even. He didn’t know how to make it stop. 

Then, they had stopped at a stand, Dream eyeing the tools on display with meticulous interest. Tommy - not one to let the conversation to pause, even on a good day - talked even louder and swung his hands even more. In the corner of his eye, he saw George’s eyes wander, landing on a nearby woman with blonde hair and a familiar face- 

“Hey, is that your mother over there?” 

Dream and Sapnap froze. He watched as George - albeit slightly delayed - did the same.

Tommy was, after all, a street rat. 

Where they had a neighborhood filled with familiar people, Tommy had the alleys of the city. Where they had permanent roofs over their heads, Tommy had whatever weird places he retreated to in the night. Where they had pasts to run from or long for, Tommy had shown them only a big fat question mark. 

Of course, they all knew the most likely reason for his street-lurking ways. The same story had been told time and time again, echoed by many children who held the same spark in Tommy’s eyes. They all knew. They chose to avoid it. 

Yet, it was suddenly staring them in the face. 

They waited with bated breath. To see whether Tommy’s shoulders would tense and face close off. To see whether he flinched back as if punched, to see if he yelled and screamed at the very idea. To see whether they had lost the kid they had begun to adore. 

Instead of any of those things, Tommy’s face spread with comedic outrage and his hands finally stilled. 

He added on with a comment, grinning when Tommy’s splutters of denial grew stronger. Dream joined in, then George again. Tommy had nearly shouted loud enough to alert the patrolling guards. 

Tommy did, however, loosen up after that. Smiled a bit more genuinely. Stopped looking so nervous. 

That had been a few months ago. They kept with the tradition ever since. 

Which brought him to the present. 

Strangely, the situation was near-identical to the first ‘is that your mom?’ incident - he, Dream, and George were searching through the shopping district and Tommy decided to join along. However, instead of a slightly off Tommy, he had a very high-spirits Tommy on his hands. He couldn’t contain his grin. 

They passed by another shop, yet to find a store containing the stuff he needed to fix his broken water heater. As always, George spotted the next ‘mom’. 

“Hey Tommy,” George called, nodding towards a nearby woman. “Isn’t that your mom over there?”

He barely suppressed a snort as Tommy grew more exasperated right before his eyes. 

Suddenly, the lady turned. 

Much to his delight and Tommy’s horror, she actually played along. 

“I’m who’s mother?” She asked, steadily coming closer. Dark brown hair rolled off her shoulders in waves, a tan hand coming to tap at the side of her grin. Her brows crinkled in amusement. 

“His mother,” Dream replied, pointing straight at Tommy. 

“Woah, woah, hold on now,” Tommy nervously chuckled. “I don’t know who this lady is. I’m sure you’re very nice, but I do not think that you are my mom- please go along with your day, I’m sorry for bothering you-” 

“That’s no way to talk to your mom!” She gasped, mock offense painting her features. 

This lady was fucking perfect. 

Obviously, he kept the bit going - Tommy’s face of confusion and dismay was just too good. “Yeah, don’t talk to your mom like that. That’s so rude Tommy, how could you say that?” 

“Yeah, how could you say that?” She echoed. “Come here now, you’re revoked of all your friend privileges until you show some respect to your mother.” 

“Ma’am, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you-” 

“And just like that, you are grounded. We’re heading home, right this instant.” 

She was dragging Tommy by the wrist before they knew it, Tommy following like a scared duck. Rebuttals and pleas formed behind his lips, wide-eyed face whipping to face his friends. 

“Bye-bye now!” 

“Have fun with your mom!” 

“We’ll catch up later, okay?” 

They all laughed as he disappeared into the crowd. 

Obviously, they expected him to reappear by their side in only a few short moments - other people have, after all, played along with the joke before. Perhaps he would look chastised, or come to them with cheeks so burning red that they could fall into another series of jokes. 

After a couple of minutes, tendrils of dread began to form in his gut. 

It would be fine, he reasoned. Maybe he decided to head off to wherever he normally went a bit early. Maybe he wanted to regroup his thoughts or make them feel slightly scared as vengeance for their joke. Maybe the lady had been more malicious than they expected. 

He shook himself at the last one. Surely Tommy could defend himself, he had seen him fight several times before. The woman - although equipped with sculpted shoulders and a muscular frame - was easily a foot shorter than their beanstalk Tommy. He could defend himself against a kidnapping. Right? 

Even with his assurances, he knew he wouldn’t be appeased until he saw Tommy again. 

*** 

They found him in the evening, in front of their houses. 

Sitting in front of their communal fire pit, the kid lacked all the energy they had seen him with just a few hours before. In its stead, a blank stare aimed directly on the last flecks of fire. The only thing that distinguished him from stone was the way he shivered slightly in the breeze - shit, he didn’t even look like he was breathing, chest rising and falling so shallowly he doubted he would feel it underneath his fingers. Dread refused to ease. 

The conversation died. He wondered whether it should have died when the sun still shone high.

“Hey, Tommy?” He called out apprehensively. Tommy jerked towards him, uncomprehending eyes pulled so wide it looked like it hurt.

“Sapnap?” 

Oh. They fucked up. 

His voice was broken and raw, cracking at the edges in a way that aged him back several years. The way he said his name sounded as if he was calling to a god or seeing a deity descend in the last moments of life. Nothing, nothing about him hinted to their Tommy. 

He quickly glanced at his friends. Realization had already hit them. 

“That’s me,” he answered lamely. “We’re, uh, we’re back.” 

Tommy shook himself in what could be called a nod. Dream hurriedly spoke up, taking a few steps forward from where they had stopped at the mouth of the road. 

“We didn’t realize that you would meet us back here. It’s been a while, we missed you.” 

“Ah,” Tommy replied simply. He tried for a smile, but the shaky edges of his grin only highlighted his contracted pupils. 

“Uh, what happened?” He said, trying to keep the silence from stretching too long. In the back of his mind, he noted how Tommy’s fingertips were sheet-white and blended into the light layer of snow dusting his shoulders. 

He was shaking. 

“Do you want to come inside?” He tried again. He walked slowly, palms up in surrender as if encroaching on enemy territory. Tommy just stared blankly. 

When he got around fifteen feet away, Tommy scrambled up. His movements looked awkward and disjointed, tense muscles freezing every little action in his mad dash to stand. He immediately took several steps back. 

“Nah, I’m good,” he choked out with bared teeth. “I’m just a bit tired. I’ll see you guys soon!” 

He turned and half-ran away, brittle and flaking at the seams. Tommy didn’t even go the way he normally went - he knew for a fact that the path he was following led to the borders and farms. 

They stood there, frozen. With one glance, he understood that they were all on the same page. 

Their bright, flaming-hot Tommy had somehow turned to ice. 

*** 

Several weeks passed before Tommy sought them out again. 

Of course, they were all concerned. Despite popping up out of nowhere, Tommy had wormed his way into their hearts with his wit and charisma - he cared about the kid, deeply. By day three they began to ask around, seeing if he had visited anyone else in their group. Nothing. 

He pulled Wilbur aside one day, pleading to be updated if Tommy was so much as spotted. 

Soon, other people were asking the very same thing from him. 

He finally managed to corner Tubbo one day, asking him whether or not their resident mystery kid had visited him. Confused and the slightest bit concerned, Tubbo had rebutted with a question as to why - he brushed the counter off, and thankfully got an answer.

Yes. 

He was a bit off, Tubbo had continued - still there physically, but not so much mentally. The last time they talked he had apparently barely spoken more than a few sentences. 

He took that yes and relayed it to the troops. He got a few relieved sighs and cheers in return. 

A week later, Tommy found half the neighborhood shivering outside Halo’s house as they waited for the weekly neighborhood meeting to begin. Although the meeting mostly consisted of town updates and the odd trade negotiation, they had quickly swept him up and brought him inside with them. Let him be a part of the neighborhood. 

Whenever Tommy wormed his way into the weekly meetings, he brought chaos as his plus one. Everything would devolve into loud laughter, shouting, and not much getting done. In his opinion, those were the best meetings. 

He did nothing of the sort. 

For the most part, Tommy barely even spoke. He just sat there while they all nervously eyed him, only saying a few words when specifically pressured to. Anytime he caught someone staring, he would smile - a disturbing little thing that never reached his eyes and screamed wrong more than it did comfort. It was as if there was no Tommy in their midst; instead, there was a poor imitation of him, desperately attempting to fit inside of Tommy’s old skin despite being far too wrong. He stared at them all with nothing behind his eyes. 

When the meeting ended and their neighborhood was noticeably more quiet, Tubbo grabbed Tommy’s hand with the promise of showing him somewhere fun. Even he spoke softer than usual - a feat in and of itself. 

He didn’t like it at all. 

*** 

He, Dream, and George managed to rope him into walking with them. Just like old times. 

Tommy, for the most part, had shed his frozen solid skin and acted like he usually did. He talked, interjected at comically inappropriate times, and smiled relatively easily while they powered past the government buildings. It felt nice. Normal, even. 

Occasionally, he would notice Tommy quiet down for a second. His eyes would unfocus and wipe clean, turning him into a lost young kid that had no idea what to do. 

He would nudge Dream and let his friend subtly create an opening for Tommy to come back. 

It was all he could do. 

Other than that, his time with Tommy felt pretty great.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be?” he asked, watching as Tommy shook his head easily. 

“I don’t think so,” he sighed, bringing his hand up to his face and counting the fingers. “Today is - uh, one, two, three - Friday, right? Yeah, I don’t have work nights on Fridays, thank God. My boss is such a fucking asshole, I hate him.” 

“So I’ve been told,” Dream replied dryly. 

Tommy focused his gaze on Dream, brows bunched over his eyes. “And you’ll be told again and again until the dude finally fucking changes. Which I doubt. Holy shit, he just constantly keeps on giving me shit to do without even an explanation, like-” 

“Is he really that bad?” 

“He really is!” His loud exclamation nearly sent him tripping over a building’s entranceway. “I know I exaggerate a lot, but I swear on my life that he sucks harder than Dream when he tries to craft anything without instructions-” 

“Finish that sentence and you’re dead.” 

Chuckles rippled through their group. They continued to slowly amble towards their destination, Tommy taking the lead in their conversation. In the periphery of his vision, he saw George glance up and recognize something - hand thoughtlessly coming up to point-

“Hey Tommy, is that-” 

Tommy… froze. 

Except, to say he froze would be an understatement. 

Everything about him just paused. His legs, his hands, his chest - his entire body seemed to lack any potential energy. It looked as though they were finding someone frozen in time, a flash of the past no longer allowed to move in the fourth dimension. God, he had become so tense. The only thing that hadn’t locked up were his eyes, which reverted back into an unblinking, unseeing stare. 

“- a parrot,” George finished, significantly quieter than before. 

Sure enough, there was a parrot shuffling atop a roof. Its bright plumage - both not native to the region and captivating all the same - made it easy to spot. Tommy’s eyes followed George’s finger and blinked. 

“Ah, yup,” he responded, laugh unnatural and stretching. He took a few stumbling steps as he brought life back to his body.

Tommy took the lead as they walked, despite being the only person who didn’t know where to go. 

The rest of the trip was uncomfortably quiet. 

*** 

They kept on trying. To reach out, to give comfort, anything they could without implying something that would drive Tommy away. He took a few, ignored a few - honestly, he seemed a bit unaware of their efforts. 

Life continued. 

Tommy would run down their street yelling obscenities to wake them up for the fun of it. He would cling to Tubbo’s side as he stirred chaos into their lives before disappearing with a grin. He would laugh, he would shout, he would grin - he would be Tommy. 

On other days, he wasn’t Tommy at all. He would speak when spoken to and disappear. He would flinch at every touch and go minutes without blinking. He would stare into nothing. He would come back to himself looking terrified. 

In the dark grasp of the night, he wondered if he could have done anything. Said anything. Stopped anything. 

All he knew was that something happened when Tommy got dragged away. 

And he didn’t do anything about it.


	3. Tommy But He Actually Goes Through The Trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Abusive relationships, Abuse recovery, Self-hatred, Implied physical abuse
> 
> I wrote this in a fever of Wanting Tommy To Confront His Issues With Wilbur Damnit, How The Fuck Can He Be Alright With His Abuser Literally Right There and was dissuaded by reading a bunch of other theories and streams. So, uh, have bitter Tommy ig? 
> 
> I also Love the fluctuation in quality between all of these you can really tell which are more recent and which aren't

He didn’t understand why they expected him to let go. 

Idly stirring the stew in front of him, he surveyed the scene. He could see the colorful figures of Techno and Ghostbur, their chosen colors glaringly clear in the vast milky tundra. They both seemed to be fretting over something - likely the huge dall sheep currently nudging Ghostbur’s side. Inexplicably, the sheep’s coat held rich, sky-like splatters of blue. 

Ghostbur said something. A kind grin stretched across his lips even as Techno ignored him and began laying out markers for some kind of structure. He couldn’t help but be reminded of when that same grin had been pointed towards him - of course, only after he bled to accommodate for his leader’s frustrations. 

The very thought quickened his pulse. It seemed as if his own subconscious was smarter than him. 

“Tommy! Tommy! Look at Friend! He’s eating my shirt! Tommy look he’s eating my shirt!” 

He refused to show how tensed Ghostbur’s voice made him. Instead, he stopped half-heartedly moving his spoon, gave a thumbs-up, and pulled a nonviolent grin out of his reserve of subservience.

“Looks fun, Big Man,” He called out, voice bland and forcefully light. 

When Ghostbur tried to urge him away from the window and into the snow, he pretended not to hear him. 

He didn’t understand why he couldn’t let go. 

***

The week following Ghostbur’s appearance had been hard. 

Even without Ghostbur’s confusing re-animation, they had a nation to rebuild and bonds to reconstruct. Everyone was scrambling, running ragged, breaking. 

He had just began coming to terms with what happened in that damned ravine. 

Of course, no one helped him - with a literal crater for a nation, some things took greater importance than his mental health. His reflection came in the embrace of the night, when he could only hug the forest floor for comfort. It became a bit of a routine, even after his house had been rebuilt - the sun set, he stumbled into the wilderness with memories nipping at his heels, he internalized as best he could, and hobbled back. The sun would rise and he would start the day bleary-eyed. Occasionally, he could even admit to himself how fucked Wilbur truly was. 

They found Ghostbur wandering the construction site, an exalting shadow of their fallen leader. Suddenly, they now had another problem to account for. 

The slip to old habits and thoughts was easier than he had ever imagined. 

Ghostbur became his utmost priority - his requests Tommy’s commands, his displeasure Tommy’s problem to solve. He clung to every gentle grin, every sliver of approval. It felt almost as if he never left those stone walls and fought his final battle against the Manburg ruler; the only difference from then was how his words never had to save him from pain. 

One night, he found himself back in the trees. The only things he trusted to forget. They heard him whisper hesitantly into the dark, his little stuttering syllables so easy to choke with tears. They heard his confusion, his internal battle between what little clarity distance had blessed him with and his overwhelming instincts. 

He woke up the next day with sensitive eyes and a fragile temper; he didn’t let it get in the way of helping his now-dead leader. Of course, Ghostbur chose that day to innocently turn and tear him into halves. 

“You don’t have to do everything I say,” He had said offhandedly, fiddling with the empty inkwell in his hands. “I can grab my own ink if you’re too busy. You don’t have to drop everything for me.” 

He had stumbled back, agreed bitterly, and hurriedly rushed into the privacy of his home. He took a day off. Instead, he spent his waking and sleeping hours shattering at the seams and breaking every reality he ever knew. 

He didn’t spend much time with Ghostbur after that. 

*** 

Exile happened. 

Dream took the role in his life as the person who saved and protected, guided and punished. Gave him more than he deserved. Really, he only felt like he was being treated properly when Dream left him with nothing but blunt cuts. 

Ghostbur stayed by his side, a beautiful reminder of who he used to love. No matter how harshly he tried to shove him away, Ghostbur stayed - with him, the old damned habits that fit about as well as straitjacket. A part of him wished to be slapped by translucent skin. Maybe then the fond fog obscuring his vision would shatter, leaving him back in the objective world. 

He didn’t know what to think of Dream. A part of him knew the similarities between Dream and Wilbur. The rest of him couldn’t believe it - Dream’s gentle hand could never replace Wilbur’s uncoordinated fist. 

In one of his brief moments of clarity, he ran. He ran for himself and ignored the screaming of anything other than the part of him that wanted to survive. 

He found Techno’s house. Built himself a shelter. 

Ghostbur found them. 

He wanted to be done with it all.

*** 

“What are we doing today?” 

Tommy looked up from his hands, immediately scanning Ghostbur from across the table. Ghostbur remained as unguarded as usual


	4. Haha Child Got Abducted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TWs! 
> 
> This was going to be a fun lil thing where Tommy was abducted by the fae as a child. I thought it was a really fun concept, but then my motivation dropped into the negatives so o o p s

The first time Phil met Tommy, he immediately clocked how odd the kid could be. 

He spoke loudly, brashly, pronounced his 'a's as 'o's in a crude facsimile of Wilbur's speech - yet, when prompted, he could hiss his 't's and slur to imitate a concerning amount of dialects. He could create traps that immobilized hunters with just an old bundle of string, could manipulate even the academics with his deceptively simple conversations, could negotiate an air-tight transaction in just a breath of slanting scrawl. 

The oddest thing of all, however, was how he came to them from the fucking trees. 

He and Techno had gone off into the woods near the outskirts of their town, Wilbur being left behind to handle the storefront. They had heard whispers of a dungeon, a ramshackled nest of skeletons slowly growing to a formidable size. Despite residing closer to the wilderness than the town plaza, they had been accepted as volunteer protectors to vanquish the threat. 

Techno wanted training practice. He just wanted loot. 

Yet as soon as they ventured deep into the thicket and mysteriously lost any sense of direction, they found something infinitely more daunting than an army of undead - TommyInnit. 

He had jumped down from seemingly nowhere - startling Techno so badly that his first greeting was a blade to the kid’s neck - and grinned with sharpened teeth. The clothing on his frame screamed of outdoor living, the soles of his shoes non-existent; how the loose potato sack he fashioned into a skirt both stayed up and withstood the wilderness remained one of the greatest mysteries of his time. An even larger mystery was how Tommy managed to contradict his woven-from-light hair and gentle features with just a flash of his eyes. Somehow, Techno didn’t immediately kill him.

“Easy there Big Man,” Tommy had said, hands up in unsuccessful placation. “I’m just here to propose a little something. A little trade.” 

“You’re a child,” He had stated, incredulous. 

Tommy had scrunched up his face before quickly melting into a smile. Something about it whispered of mischief, told him not to trust anything this being of chaos said; somehow - either taught by himself or someone else - he had learned the art of trickery and imbued it in his grin.

On the first day he met Tommy, he exchanged a golden apple for directions to the nest and home.

Apparently, he also gained one Tommy. 

*** 

The fourth time they met Tommy, they were still only slightly prepared. 

Wilbur screeched unholy when he dropped from the trees - thankfully, he and Techno only flinched. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Tommy thoughtlessly began leading them through the perpetually directionless forest. 

“So do you live out here?” He asked, concern overtaking what caution still stayed in his mind. Tommy stuck out his tongue before swiftly sweeping Wilbur’s leg. 

“Not really,” Tommy replied, only the devious glint in his eyes betraying his knowledge of Wilbur’s screams. “Technically, I live in the same town as you. But the woods are so much more fun to be in, you know? So many more people to annoy.” 

He snorted, watching Tommy easily jump over sharp branches and covered rocks. He also watched Wilbur sneak up from behind and bump the kid into oblivion. 

“That’s what you get for tripping me, you bastard!” 

Tommy’s eyes lit up despite his position in the dirt, the lightness practically illuminating his face with a softness characteristic of his age. When he laughed genuinely for the first time, no traces of deception could be detected - just Tommy, no propositions or deals attached. 

Tommy led them home. Lingered. 

Phil didn’t think to complain. 

*** 

After a few months of near-weekly visits from Tommy, they managed to tether him to their lives. As their employee, they saw him near-daily - they could run their little shop with just three, yet a constant fourth set of hands helped more than he ever anticipated. 

Unsurprisingly, Tommy quickly became the main seller of their wares. The way he could so easily convince buyers to spend more on lower quality frankly astounded him. 

He did not, however, employ Tommy just for his bargaining expertise. 

The Sleepy Boys’ was a family business, after all. 

*** 

When a competing store scooped Tommy up in exchange for something he never revealed, it all went downhill. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genuinely like fae Tommy. Might pick it up again, who knows??


	5. Oops! All Eldritch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TWs! 
> 
> The entire twist of this one was going to be that Dream made them hallucinate things that weren't there and urged them to run - more specifically, he made them believe that all their friends were monsters so terrifying that they were willing to drop everything to avoid a fate by their hands. Another one that I also really like! Just, uh, never finished-

Normally, he could talk. Normally, he could do something, anything, to ease the tension of a situation or draw the inevitable ever closer. Normally - even when he stood petrified in his own terror, the feeling of death's hands on his numbing his fingers - he could open his mouth and guarantee at least a few coherent noises. 

He could not speak.

"What?" Phil questioned with mock naivety, strands of hair displacing as he cocked his head. Just a few hours before - a few moments - he would have accepted the action as a humane display of curiosity. 

Now, he could only see it in all it's damning verity - a disguise. 

"Nothing," He managed to say, his lips quirking in a convincing grin. He hoped Phil wouldn't see behind the farce; as someone who undoubtedly smiled without true honesty, Phil would be well-versed in fake tilts of lips. 

Thankfully, Phil either chose not to comment or decided his materials were better deserving of his attention. "Okay. You just looked a bit spooked there. I'd recommend leaving before you run into Techno - he's still very angry with you. Take care, yeah?"

He fought his neck up and down before waving and stumbling on scared-stiff legs. As soon as he could reasonably believe that Phil couldn't see him, he ran. 

He needed to get to Tubbo, before it was too late. 

*** 

"Tubbo, pack your things- we have to get out of here, fast." 

Tubbo looked up with a start as he burst into the room. Despite his efforts to keep his entrance as soft as possible, the door bounced harshly with an invoking bang.

"Wh-what? What's going on?" Thankfully, Tubbo's confusion failed to stop him from standing. He quickly brushed a hand against Tubbo's shoulder before letting panic replace the touch with easy to carry rations.

"Tubbo, I- my head is still reeling man, but I saw it. I saw Phil."

Tubbo froze. "What about him? Wh- why were you even close to him? Techno-"

"He- he changed, like how all those nursery rhymes said," He interrupted, the press of time shocking his words. "He- I think he's a- we have to get out, before he realizes we know."

Nausea and horror painted the expanses of his slightly horrored cheeks, the rich green of his gardening shirt matching well with his newly-mint skin. Trembling hands rose to cover his mouth.

"Oh- oh stars-"

"You know what? I'll pack. I'll pack, you just get anyone you know is human. I- I don't think we're safe anymore. I don't think we ever were."

Tubbo finally reanimated, his hands joining in his knocking against the floorboards. Near immediately, he took hold of one's edges and ripped it away - an emergency pack, one they had hoped to never use.

"Do you know who could be human?" Tubbo rambled, his eyes to the door as he shoved the packs onto the table. "Or at least, anyone we can trust?"

He sucked in a shuddering breath, forcing the turmoil to lessen it's grasp. "Not Phil, which means not Techno, and Wil-Ghostbur, and Ranboo. They're too closely attached, we can't risk it." 

"Are we helping our enemies, or can we not trust them?" [] 

"This is larger than alliances," He spat, the jerking of the window blinds far from the only indicator of his panic. "Not Fundy - bloodlines, he could be one - not- not Dream, not him or his people, uh. Not Eret, not Karl." 

"That leaves Big Q, Niki, Puffy, Purpled, Ponk, Punz. I'll message them-" Tubbo cut himself off with a sharp inhale- "I'll run. The horse is out back, yeah?"

With a stiff nod, Tubbo lurched out the door. He could only think of the unnatural shadows hiding in every crevice of his life. 

So as to not break himself before Tubbo managed to make it back, he grabbed all of the essentials. Food, water, flint and steel, clothes - both for mind-melting temperatures and freezing tundras - maps, weapons, currency, potions. He made sure to grab the entirety of their already-small stock of harming potions. If they can after them, they would need as many as they could. 

He managed to pack it all into two bags before Tubbo got back. It would never be enough.

"So?" He prompted, heels beating senselessly on the ground as they fought to bolt. 

"They didn't believe me." Tubbo looked up, the same shattered look on his face he had seen when his country crumbled to ash.


	6. Vent Vent and Vent Some More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Disordered eating, starvation, self-hatred 
> 
> Uh,,, I wasn't vibing when I made this lol-

Tommy tried to avoid physical fights. 

He knew it weird, even without the curious glances as he traded screaming words instead of fists. He knew it ironic, even without the long long list of battles with his name penned as the instigator. He knew it sad, even without the light-hearted jabs and sunset conversations. 

“Poor physical shape,” He had cited, his grin half truthful and half deflection.

“Malnourishment,” A small voice whispered, malice coating its too-sweet lips. 

He knew the voice to be right. 

His heart pumped wildly even sitting, the too-large organ straining to support the dead weight of his body. It beat loudly, quickly, angrily in his ears - occasionally deafening him to anything but its furious struggle - purely because of his own actions. Despite his inherent culpability for the hill it had to perpetually crawl, it still continued to beat. Nondiscriminatory. Unjudging. 

Instead of forcing his heart to thrum faster than it already did, he grinned with skin that pulled too-tight against the edges of his lips. He used the last of his breath to shout lines to look back on with irritated nostalgia. He engaged and joked for short bursts in the day and used the rest of the time to recharge. 

He tried to ensure his heart didn’t pound out of his chest. He refused to stop what made it so close to doing so. 

Tommy tried to avoid physical fights.

He despised the reason why. 

***

“I need you to go mining when you have the chance. Ghostbur wants a lot of iron for his little project.”

Tommy glanced to the side, averting his gaze from the snowy expanse biting at his nose. Techno - with a cloak he had only seen him wear while traveling on - leaned against the window’s rail and blew a wistful breath into the white. 

“No, I’m okay,” He snarked back, partially out of disinterest and partially out of necessity. Techno raised an unimpressed brow. 

Tommy wasn’t an idiot. He knew the way his vision teetered ever so often spelled his disaster. He couldn’t afford to have his vision blotch black at the edges in the unforgiving walls of a mine. Even if he managed to power through it - he had many times before, the only remembered consequence one off-handed comment on his unfocused stare - he didn’t know if he could realign his balance during the stumbling that occurred after. That part had gotten worse over the last few days. 

His body pleaded for the food he had pretended to eat in the morning. A honey-sweet hum slipped into the pressure against his head. 

“Are you just going to stay here then? Rifle around in my house?” 

Tommy grinned, shivering despite the several layers already hidden under his coat. A single nod. 

“Yeah, no.” Techno snorted, turning away only to find and pass a pick in his direction. “You’re always talking about wanting something to do. So, go mining.” 

He pulled a face and refused to grip the outstretched pick. “Nope! Well- okay. Where are you going?” 

A last-second attempt to escape. His poor attempt to redirect could easily be seen through - he hadn’t built up enough for a smooth transition, nor had he thought of something to catch him off-guard and scrambling. Thankfully, Techno relaxed and followed the new direction. 

“The village.” Techno hummed and returned to leaning against the window. “I want to check out the news board and trade a little bit. I found this great guy last week - has a real knack for inscribing enchantments. Great prices as well. Oh, and I need to pick up Phil.” 

“That’s where he got stuck?” Tommy huffed, surveying the pillowy fields still dusted with fresh snowflakes. The evening before had brought a ferocious storm, the intensity driving him to use boiled water in an attempt to bring heat back to his skin. Phil - on a day trip through the Nether, as he often did - hadn’t been spotted wading through the vicious sheets of darkened grey. 

“Yup, just in time as well.”

They stood in silence for a second, the conversation batting thoughtlessly in his slight blurred head. His mind had gotten duller, he realized; his thoughts’ edges were melted away and his filter felt too slow to catch much of anything. 

“I can join you. On your trip! That’s something to do, right? 

Techno snorted. “Why would I want to spend a day with you? Especially in the village. I don’t want to spend my day covering your ass.” 

Tommy merely widened his grin, bordering on obnoxious - he would rather stumble through town than accidentally break his head. 

Just as he hoped, Techno looked away and scratched his ear. Sighed. 

“Fine,” Techno relented, stifling a huff at his rousing cheer. “You can come with me. But you still have to go get iron.” 

“Just not today,” He sang smugly and whirled away. Immediately, he lurched down the stairs and into his not-so-approved room - despite only needing to prepare a little, he didn’t want to keep Techno waiting. 

A more presentable coat, a few daggers, a hat, thicker socks, and a pair of goggles. 

Something light bundled some dried fruit and stashed it in his pocket. Poisonous disdain swelled at the precaution.


	7. Spirit Tommy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TWs! 
> 
> Another one that I really liked but stopped fitting with the dynamics being developed at the time - Tommy as a messenger/spirit of the north star. He didn't know his purpose or what he was supposed to do (cough cough, bring the SBI together) and eventually got into all of the shenanigans of the SMP. After a serious of fluffy as fuck events, he would have eventually brought SBI together in Techno's cabin. When he felt his purpose fulfilled, however, he sent himself back into the stars (Clara pog?), which would lead to a second, found-fucking-family installment. 
> 
> If only I could actually write-

Tommy learned two things the day he was born. 

One - he wasn’t entirely meant to exist. Two - there was something he had to do, something he didn’t know. 

A few days after, he managed to float into a remote village. He learned a few things then as well - people didn’t like the way he hovered, he looked like a six year old child, and he had to disguise himself to not be immediately attacked. Thankfully, he was a quick learner. 

By the end of his first week alive, he had successfully cloaked himself in the skin of humanity. When he went somewhere he walked, when he opened his mouth he breathed, when he sat in the sun he kept his skin dull. 

Truly, he had become just another kid. 

Thus began the life of Tommy Innit. 

***


	8. Tommy Said Trans Rights But Better (Woah Woah S c r a p p e d)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TWs! 
> 
> Another oldie that I just stopped vibing with lol-

He discovered his name at age fourteen. 

Just a few weeks shy of aging up a year, his cheeks round with youth and form just barely filling out. After months of desperate searching, of late-night rabbit holes and indecisive thinking, he found his name. 

At age fifteen, he started his channel. 

No one ever recognized him in public. 

***

“Chat, chat, I think I fucked up- Eret’s pretty pissed and I frankly have no idea why-” 

He grinned into the camera, still only slightly okay with its looming presence. Immediately after remembering it was there he quickly fixed his hair - he had to look good for the thousands of people watching, after all. 

“Chat, I know I literally relocated half of his positions to a second location, I didn’t think she would care-” 

His back ached. He had to constantly adjust his posture to not constrict his breathing even more, something he knew the consequences of first-hand - thankfully, his chair accommodated well for his uncomfortably straight spine. Perhaps that was how it was always meant to be used. He quickly brushed that ridiculous thought away. 

“Okay, they- they’re trying to get me on a vc, I should probably do that-”

He quickly froze his screen and clicked into the proper voice call. Immediately, screaming.

“What the fuck Tommy, why did you even do that-” 

“Like it’s not even for your benefit you just-” 

“Tommy,” Eret snapped through the chaos, voice uncharacteristically annoyed. “What the fuck did you do with my items?” 

Tommy stammered for a moment before retaliating. “It’s not my fault! You just left them out there- out there in the open! I had to protect them - this place is dangerous Eret, you should know that - so I moved them to a safer location! Where they can - heh - where they can be nice and warm.” 

A heavy silence filled his headphones. In his head, he thanked his voice for staying comically low. 

On his monitor, the figure of Fundy froze and stared straight at him. “Did you- did you move his items into the nether?”

He barely contained a snort.

“Oh my God, what the fuck Tommy-” 

“Are you serious, are you shitting me-” 

“Why? In what universe is that okay?” 

Once he double-checked that his dark hoodie could swallow him whole, he laughed. His shoulders bounced with wild abandon, his voice slightly shrill and wheezing. For a few seconds, he could only brace against the table as his lungs expelled what little air they had left. 

“My universe, bitch,” He crowed. As the call erupted into more outrage, he prayed for another war to not get written into the storyline. 

*** 

Despite his antics, he respected Eret. A lot. 

He loved how she could juggle so many aspects of their life, how he could remain such a steady presence on her streams, how they could work with nearly any group he came across. 

How they could be so unapologetically herself. 

He made a note to send some appreciation their way, maybe even a sincere text. Something, something to show just a small amount of his gratitude.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading through all this bullshit! Uhh,,, I hope you liked it?


End file.
